Kent watched with bated breath, his body half-hidden in the shadowed corner of the strange room.
The faint silver glow from the narrow window spilled across the floor like liquid light, leaving the rest in impenetrable darkness. His suppressed cultivation made his senses duller than he liked, but one thing still struck him sharply: the sound of the door opening.
Someone stepped in.
At first, it was only a silhouette against the moonlight — slender yet curved, the outline of a woman whose very posture carried unintentional allure. As the light brushed over her, Kent's eyes narrowed. Her hair was dark, wet strands clinging to her shoulders, the ends dripping small beads of water that rolled down to vanish against the towel draped around her. Steam curled faintly from her skin, carrying the warm, clean scent of fresh water.
The towel hugged her figure with careless intimacy, clinging to the soft swell of her breasts and narrowing along her waist before draping over her hips. It covered her — but only just.
Each step she took made it shift ever so slightly, hinting at the perfect lines of her body beneath.
Kent swallowed, his throat dry. His mind screamed that he should look away, that he should focus on the danger of his suppressed cultivation, on finding an escape — but his eyes betrayed him.
She crossed to the wardrobe, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and opened it with an unhurried grace. Her movements were unguarded, almost languid, as if she were alone. From within, she drew a folded set of clothes — soft silks, pale and flowing, the kind that would cling to a body when worn.
The wardrobe door swung shut with a soft click. She turned, moving toward the bed near the window, placing the clothes neatly upon it. The moonlight spilled fuller over her now, revealing the smooth line of her back where the towel had slipped just slightly lower. Her skin glowed pale and flawless, catching the light in a way that made her look sculpted, divine.
Kent's gaze followed the gentle slope of her spine to the curve of her hips. The towel rested there loosely, no longer tight but balanced on her shape as though one wrong breath could send it sliding down. His pulse quickened. A faint heat coiled in his gut, rising with every stolen heartbeat.
She reached up, gathering her damp hair, twisting it into a loose bun. The motion arched her back slightly, lifting her breasts against the towel's embrace, making the fabric strain. Kent felt his fingers twitch at his side — not with the urge to reach, but from the tension of resisting.
Then she paused, hands still behind her head, and exhaled. Slowly, deliberately, she moved her fingers to the edge of the towel, tucking them beneath the fold at her chest.
Kent's breath caught.
She loosened it. The fabric shifted, parting just enough to let the cool night air kiss more of her skin. She began to slide it down, inch by inch, revealing the smooth expanse of her back in full. The moonlight danced over her, tracing every subtle curve, every flawless inch. The towel fell lower, gliding over the curve of her waist toward the swell of her hips.
Kent's heartbeat was loud in his ears now. His mind was a storm — half desire, half dread. He knew the danger of being caught here, of being discovered. Yet in this moment, the thought of moving, of making any sound, seemed impossible. He was frozen, trapped between survival and temptation.
Just before the towel could slide past that final barrier, she stopped.
Her head turned slightly, not enough for him to see her face, but enough for him to know — she had felt something.
Her insticts screamed.
Her aura flared, not with the sharp edge of a warrior, but with the primal, instinctive awareness of a woman sensing unseen eyes.
The towel snapped back into place as she caught it with one hand.
A heartbeat later, the air changed.
The world lost its color.
It was as though the world itself drew in a breath before screaming. A burst of energy exploded from her body, shattering the very air.
Invisible force tore through the room, obliterating the delicate formation that had been keeping it still as if it was just a paper. The walls cracked and splintered. The bedframe groaned and split apart. Moonlight scattered as the window shattered into a rain of glass.
Kent was thrown back, his body slamming against the wall with bone-rattling force. The air left his lungs in a gasp. Pain flared along his side, and dust rained down around him. His vision swam, but he forced it to clear — and then froze.
She stood in the center of the devastation.
The towel was gone.
In its place, regal robes of deep crimson and gold shimmered into existence, wrapping her body in an instant, the silks flowing with an ethereal grace that spoke of high-grade artifact weaving. Her hair, now fully dry, streamed behind her like a banner in an invisible wind. Her eyes blazed, her look said it allblood, she was out for blood.
Recognition struck him like a blade to the chest.
Aria.
Daren's wife.
The woman whispered about in every corner of this town, known for her beauty and allure. The woman said to be untouchable, her beauty matched by none.
Now, every word of those rumors seemed pitiful compared to the reality before him.
Her aura pressed down on him like the weight of a mountain. The air rippled under the force of it, and the ground itself trembled.
Beyond the shattered walls of the room, the entire town quaked — tiles sliding from rooftops, lanterns swinging wildly, people collapsing in unconscious heaps not able bare the suffocating sura that covered the entire town.
Kent struggled to draw breath, his cultivation was no more suppressed but Arias aura rendered him as fragile as a mortal before storm. His heart pounded not just from fear, but from the lingering echo of what he had seen — the raw, unshielded beauty that was now replaced by a predator's stance.
'Who the fuck said she is a mortal!' Kent thought.
Her lips curved, but it was not a smile. It was the barest ghost of one, dangerous and cold, like the glint of a blade.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low, velvet over steel.
"You unworthy Dog!"
The way she called him sent another chill down his spine.
One step. She moved toward him, and the ground cracked under her heel. The pressure increased tenfold.
Kent's mind screamed at him to move, to escape — but there was nowhere to go. His back was to the wall, his body pinned by an aura so dense it might as well have been stone.
Her eyes held his, unblinking, as if she were peeling him apart piece by piece, searching for the exact moment he would break.
"You saw," she hissed, her words dripping like the deadliest poison. "you dared! I'll remove your existence from the very fabric of reality!"
Kent's throat worked, but no sound came out.
Another step. Her robes whispered against the floor.
He could feel the heat of her power now, an almost physical thing brushing against his skin, igniting every nerve in a rush of both fear and something he didn't want to name.
Aria stopped just short of him, so close he could see the faint pulse at her throat, could feel the stir of air as she breathed. The moonlight caught in her eyes, turning them into twin shards of burning silver.
"I should have killed you the ver day you came here." She spoke in a low voice and then said with a smile. "But I'll finish that good work today "
Kent felt his very soul tremble with fear because that smile promised that whatever came next… would be far more dangerous than death.
But he would die happy.... Because he has seen it, even if just for a mere breath but he has seen it, when her aura exploded so did her towel, and beneath that towel he saw it, that blasphemously, demonic beautiful body.
Those voluptuous, jingling breast, that small smooth waist and those small but perfect, wet pussy lips... He had seen it all, and he was going to etch it in his memories forever.